


Arts of War

by ellenm (quasiradiant)



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quasiradiant/pseuds/ellenm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her Confessor's training was nothing if not thorough in the arts of war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arts of War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faithful4you](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithful4you/gifts).



> written as a treat!

After weeks and months of being dirty, of being tangle-haired and foul-smelling, Kahlan thinks it's so very niceto take the time to clean even under her fingernails. They have a sliver of soap between them, and Richard lets her have it all. Mord'Sith don't smell. Mord'Sith never seem in desperate need of a scrubbing. Mord'Sith are clean, composed, with brushed hair and brushed teeth and blush-pink skin.

And oh, it's delicious to take the time to wash her face until her skin stings. To rub the juice of sweet-scented leaves under her arms and along the inside of her thighs until she smells of dew-drops and early mornings and late springs. To have Richard kneel behind her, twining her hair into a long, impossibly tight plait, his breath flickering across the back of her neck, coiling that long mischievous snake of desire in the pit of her stomach.

She can use that, too. As good as the sword in her hand, the agiel at her side, the knife on her thigh, the powerful strum of sex is a weapon, too, and her Confessor's training was nothing if not thorough in the arts of war. It's easy to walk in, head high and Richard leashed, easy to wield all those weapons like the password to a secret sorority.

And if she chooses to ignore how easy it is to slip from Confessor to Mord'Sith, she can hardly be blamed. There is the task at hand, of course. There is uncomplicated escape, avoiding injury, maintaining composure.

But, there's also this. The pure, unadulterated pleasure of wrapping her ungloved fingers around the neck of Cara -- this beautiful, this young, this angry and pliant thing -- and feeling nothing. No tug as her mind stretches to connect, to consume, to control the will of the other. No strain of Confession, which pulls on the Confessor nearly as hard as it pulls on the Confessed.

This, her fingers around Cara's throat, her mouth on Cara's mouth and nothing in her stomach or chest but pleasure.

Walking into a Mord'Sith temple, a hairsbreadth from death. Precarious, yes, and dangerous. But the closest, maybe, to escape that Kahlan's ever found.


End file.
